


Fires of Devotion

by setos_puppy



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Cloaca, Dragons, Dragons have different bodies, Non-Human Genitalia, Other, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, non-linear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 19:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9781196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setos_puppy/pseuds/setos_puppy
Summary: After the Thordak fight, after things have calmed down, Gilmore takes some time to recover and reconnect.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to everyone on twitter and tumblr who listened to my crazy flailing and helped me through this insane idea I had. Thank you to 1001cranes for beta-ing this. This is my first fic in this fandom so please be nice. Feedback is always appreciated!

It was late when Gilmore finally arrived in Westruun. He disembarked from the skyship with a grateful nod and wide smile to the crew as he made his way down the winding stairs and out into the streets filled with fading sunlight. It was cool for early spring, the kind that wormed into your skin and deeper still to your bones. He cursed himself for the thousandth time for not simply teleporting. Still, he lacked a Circle; his old shop no doubt rubble and lumber for the rebuilding projects still going on through the city. And Allura was busy, he had no need to trouble her with exerting energy on something he’d rather keep quiet.

Now that he finally had the chance to relax after the long months of dragon threat. Of exhaustion to the point of pain. Of shaking himself apart to keep so many people - as many people as he could manage - safe.

So, skyship it had been.

Now, Gilmore was making his way through the cobblestone streets, through the small, steady flow of people toward the Temple Terrace. His meeting and place of respite for his journey was in a place close to the Court of Avandra, and he had every intention of taking advantage of the offered hospitality.

 

\- - - - -

I hope this letter finds you well and no further dragged into the meddlings of Vox Machina.

Now that the Conclave has been bested, I think it wise we speak. In person.

I found your appearance within the Cinder King’s lair surprising to say the least.

It seems such a small band of adventurers has far-reaching fingers.

Contact me at your earliest available chance and we can arrange a meeting.

~J’mon Sa Ord.

 

The letter found me well rested, thank you for your concern.

I would like to speak with you as well. We hardly had the chance to do so openly with such poor timing.

Finding your presence with them was probably as jarring for me as it was for you.

I am available for meeting at your earliest convenience.

~Shaun

 

Wondrous. The end of the month then. We will meet in Westruun.

Further information will likely follow.

I look forward to seeing you and speaking with you in person, _vorellim_.

~Devo’ssa

 

\- - - - -

The sight of the sandstone tower and block of buildings surrounded by sturdy walls made Gilmore smile and his heart quickened its pace. Tension he hadn’t been expecting slipped from his shoulders and he hurried through the gates. After being directed by a few helpful city guards, Gilmore slipped past a gate and through the door of a secluded tower on the edge of the Court grounds. He followed the stairs up to the top, and his smile brightened a bit at the sight of a woman in front of him. Her dress was not as ornate as if he were serving guard at the Cerulean Palace, but obvious to those who knew, armor of the Hand of Ord. She studied him for a long moment, eyes narrowed and spine straight.

Gilmore stood still, doing his best to keep from anxiously shifting from foot to foot as she examined him. She pulled something from a pouch on her belt and he felt a tingle at the base of his neck when she scattered something in the air before him. After a long moment she nodded, and he nodded in return.

“Are they inside?”

“Their Eminence is at the Cobalt Reserve for the moment. However, as instructed, you are to be let inside. They will be here shortly.”

She pulled a key from her belt and unlocked the door before pushing it open and making a sweeping gesture toward the room. Gilmore gave her a second, slightly tired grin and stepped into the room, not looking behind himself as the door was pulled closed and the key in the lock turned.

Carefully removing his travelling over-cloak and boots, Gilmore tucked them aside in the small closet. He stepped further into the room and closed his eyes at the sudden overwhelmingly, heart-aching smell of frankincense. When he reopened his eyes, he followed the scent toward a simple earthenware dish with lightly smoldering resin. The smoke suffused the air with a woody, clean citrus smell that brought back so many memories.

He let his eyes sweep over the room, taking in the surroundings with hunger. A door leading to the balcony was open, letting in cool air, and gave a view of the darkening blue skies. A series of couches were placed around a fireplace where a tea kettle hung over logs, ready for use. Across from them was a plush, wide canopy bed. Turning in place he saw a wide wooden table with comfortable carved chairs pushed against a wall. Not too far from them was another door. He stepped through it and let out a pleased groan at the feel of steam hitting his skin. There was a large copper tub sunken into the warm stone, filled with inviting looking water.

The chambers were lovely. Not overly opulent, but highly functional for whatever an official would need.

Stepping back out into the main room, Gilmore made his way toward the fireplace. With a quick flash of power he set the logs aflame. As they crackled to life, he found a jar of tea, rock sugar, and tea cups. He let the water boil, then carefully removed the kettle to drop in the tea leaves to steep. He was just closing the door to the balcony and drawing the drapes across the door and windows when the lock clicked.

He turned, watching as J’mon stepped into the room, speaking lowly with the guardswoman before the door shut behind them. Gilmore’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of them. Simple and elegant as always, in a pair of warm brown linen leggings and a white tunic with the faintest stitching of gold and green at the hemlines. Their hair was bound back, head covered by a shawl to stave off the wind and damp.

Unable to stop himself, a wide smile broke over Gilmore’s face and he gave a brief incline of a bow before he crossing the gap between the two of them. Warm hands, unchilled from the journey, pressed against his face and Gilmore felt his eyes flutter at the heat and softness against his cheeks. Long fingers framed his face and thumbs rubbed over the rasp of his beard.

“You look better. Less singed.”

A huff of laughter bubbled up from Gilmore’s throat and he flicked his eyes up towards J’mon’s face. Taking in the long angles of their features, their molten, metallic eyes. Their smell of hot, worked metal and rich oil. “I’m a mess compared to you. I need to bathe.”

J’mon hummed wordlessly as their finger touched the snarls in Gilmore’s hair, haphazardly pulled back with a simple leather tie. “Tea. Then a bath.”

They stepped back from him and Gilmore swayed a bit in place, watching as they lowered the shawl from their head to reveal an ornate tri-braid loop affixed to the back of their head. Their long hair, swept away, accentuated their otherness. He watched as they poured two steaming cups of tea, swirling the leaves to settle in the bottom. Delicate, slim fingers picked up a piece of rock sugar and Gilmore’s eyes followed the sugar upwards, watched it pressed between slightly upturned lips to rest on a curled tongue. J’mon took a sip of tea.

Swallowing, Gilmore picked up his own cup of tea, his own piece of rock sugar. He let the sugar rest atop his tongue before rolling it under when he took a sip of the tea. The sweetness burst through his mouth as the sudden heat slipped against the sugar and slowly started to let it melt. Gods, how he’d missed things like this. The smells and tastes of home. Even in a place as damp as Westruun.

J’mon folded themself fluidly onto one of the couches, crossing their legs at the knee and resting the cup and saucer gently in their lap, studying Gilmore with a curious expression. “Do you know why I asked you here?”

“I have some ideas. We’ve had a long correspondence. An even longer history.”

J’mon’s lips curled around the rim of their tea cup. “Indeed. History that we’ve together shared and more still you yourself did not live and yet remember.”

Gilmore broke the rock sugar between his teeth before flicking his tongue against his lips. “Such is the life of one Fate Touched by a dragon, I suppose.” He took a large swallow of tea to keep his tongue. “I’m not a replacement, you know.”

J’mon tilted their head slightly, eyes hooded slightly, looking slightly lost in thought. “I don’t expect you to be. I’m not asking you to be. You were never a replacement. I grew enraptured by you all on your own, Shandar Geddemore.”

A soft flush rose on Gilmore’s cheeks at the use of his birth name, practically purred from their throat. He flicked his eyes down, slightly demure in the face of the reassurance. A curled index finger knocked under his chin, making him look back up, and he gave a slightly self-conscious grin. “It’s been quite a while since anyone called me that. Reminds me of the day I first met you. Fifteen years old and standing in the throne room so high above Ank’Harel.”

J’mon was quiet for a long pause of time, simply drinking their tea. When they finished the cup they stood, setting the cup and saucer aside, pulling at Gilmore’s shoulders gently. “You look in need of a good bath and some attention. Go, attend to your travel weary body.”

Gilmore opened his mouth to protest but a simple kiss to the forehead silenced him and he was nudged toward the bathroom he’d previously admired. He stole a glance over his shoulder before opening the door to the bathroom and watched as J’mon stepped out onto the balcony, drawing the door and curtains closed behind them.

Stepping into the bathroom, Gilmore groaned in delight at the thought of the hot bath, perfumed with rose hips and cardamom. He undressed slowly, removing his rings and the hair tie holding back the tangled mess of a mane bound at the nape of his neck. He pulled over the small basket of tools at the counter by the mirror and removed a set of spring shears, carefully cutting the ribbon binding his beard braid and working out the braid and knots with the small comb provided. Finally, he moved to step into the recessed copper tub and let out a noise of pleasure as he sank down into it, slipping under the surface to let the heat suffuse him.

 

\- - - - -

The wind off the dunes was scorching and dry. Devo’ssa hunkered low in the shadow of one of the large walls of sand, wings fanned out in an attempt to provide some assistance against the heat. They moved back onto their haunches, watching the distant oasis bustle with the faintest hints of life in the desert. They turned their head, watching the radiance gleam off of the golden scales of their companion.

Emiz’aa gave a toothy smile, proud of the display of humanity thriving in the remotest of places. “I care for these ones. This place. I have watched over it. I have watched it grow from nothingness to a few tents to this growing expanse. These humans. They endure.”

Devo’ssa was quiet for a moment, basking in the warmth, as uncomfortably direct as it was. They turned their attention back on the toing and froing of the oasis. “You must be very proud of them. Your charges.”

Emiz’aa rumbled agreement and then moved so that their massive golden expanse was before Devo’ssa, blocking the view of the oasis. “I know how much you care for me, Devo’ssa. You wish for us to share a life, but it cannot be. I am gold and you are brass. We cannot have what we wish. Were it not for…”

Devo’ssa thrashed their tail. It was a conversation they had many a time. Emiz’aa was too stuck. Too proud of the hierarchy. It didn’t make the sting any less. They had been dancing around each other for nearly a century.

“I must go elsewhere, Devo’ssa. It is likely you will not see me again. I wanted to give you a gift before I left.”

A snort left Devo’ssa without their permission and they fixed their gaze onto Emiz’aa. “A pity gift? You needn’t bother. I am not so fragile.”

One gold claw moved, resting beside the smaller brass one, they shared the briefest of touches. “No. A gift to show you of my compassion. My wish for the future for you. Something for you to love in my stead.”

Devo’ssa tilted their head back, studying the gold scales, the impossibly radiant face. “I will accept this gift gratefully.”

A tension that had built in Emiz’aa fell at the words, as did the slight raising of their hackles, and a smile curled their mouth. They stepped back again, moving to stand to the right of Devo’ssa. Devo’ssa once more found themselves staring toward the oasis.

“Your people? I cannot; Emiz’aa this is too much.”

“They are entrusted to you. I am sure you know that I do not do this lightly. It is all I can give to you in this lifetime. Take care of them for me.”

Devo’ssa was struck. Their tail moved to wind around Emiz’aa’s, unbidden. Thankfully the gesture was not seen as unwelcome. They stayed atop the dune, watching the oasis for a long while.

“Did you name it? Your oasis? Your people?”

“No. Though I think of it as a jewel of the desert. Perhaps you can think of a fitting designation.”

They watched as the sun set and the stars blossomed in the sky.

“I think I’ll call it Ank’Harel.”

 

\- - - - -

Stories came from the edges of the world. Of a place far to the north.

Of Wildmount.

Of a demilich in a long forgotten forest or tomb.

Of a gold dragon.

Fighting.

Dying.

Dead.

 

\- - - - -

 

Your Eminence; The Exalted J’mon Sa Ord, I hope this letter finds you well.

My name is Shandar Geddemore.

You may not remember me, but two years ago my parents took me to Ank’Harel when manifestations of my heritage started to come forth.

Your guidance in that week had helped immensely; however, now I have further questions and concerns.

I am having dreams.

Rememberings.

I think perhaps linked to my draconic ancestor.

Combined with my nature as a ‘rune child’, as you called it, I’m feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

Any help would be appreciated if you could take the opportunity.

Thank you, Shandar Geddemore.

 

Shandar Geddemore, I do remember you.

You are not one easily forgotten.

I am pleased to hear that my guidance aided you.

I noticed that the letter messenger was not from Marquet; are you travelling for your studies?

If so, you must tell me where. I will do my best to recommend local scholars if possible.

Please tell me about these dreams, I will see what I can do to help decipher them.

Respectfully, J’mon Sa Ord

 

The Exalted J’mon Sa Ord, I’m flattered to be remembered.

Currently I’m in Vasselheim. It’s unbearably cold this high in the northern mountains.

However, this far from Marquet and those who knew my face, which is safer for myself and my parents.

I hope to travel to the Cobalt Reserve in Westruun one day, but lack the proper permissions to enter.

As for my dreams, well… Do you know of any dragons by the title of Devo’ssa?

Brass, I think. Perhaps copper.

Sincerely, Shandar Geddemore.

 

\- - - - -

The coolness of the rich linens of the bed contrasted in a pleasing way against his still bath warm skin as Gilmore let himself be fussed over. His beard had already been attended to, clipped and groomed back into a tasteful length against his chin. Now, however, was the bushy, slowly drying mess that was his hair.

“When was the last time you let someone attend to your hair?”

Gilmore cracked an eye open, thinking for a long moment. “Too long. You know how it is. Our people, Marquesian, that is, how personal it is.”

J’mon clucked their tongue and dipped the bone comb into some oil before beginning to work at the worst snarls at the ends. “And I wonder from whom they picked up such a habit.”

Laughing, Gilmore relaxed his neck, letting his head be pushed forward so his chin was against his chest as J’mon combed through his thick hair. “I’m not sure. Perhaps an Emperor for whom vestments and jewelry have no meaning but hair is a sign of pride.”

J’mon tugged lightly on a lock of hair at the gentle barb and pressed a kiss to Gilmore’s temple. “I suppose I’ll just have to find a way to tend to you more often.”

Gilmore’s eyes fell shut as he let the feeling of a strong comb and fingers working through his hair lull him into a warm bubble of security and peace. He was wholly surrounded by them. He was sitting between their long legs, reclined into their chest. Even still, sitting as they were, they loomed in a pleasant way over him. Able to wrap their arms around him if they so wished, rest their chin atop his head. It was a love and a safety he hadn’t known before.

He had loved before. He loved still. But never a love like this. He had never been _in_ love.

It was an all consuming fire.

Gilmore opened his eyes when he felt the comb leave his hair and the steady movement of braids being worked in before the slight weaving movement of the needle and thread secured the braid at the base. With practiced fingers, J’mon rolled the braid into a coil above the nape of his neck and secured it with a few more well placed stitches. Gilmore’s fingers touched lightly at the style before letting his hands fall back into his lap.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, _vethparijan_.”

The endearment made Gilmore’s heart twist and a faint flush rise over his cheeks. J’mon had such a way of making him feel like a bashful child again. He felt their fingers drift down his back, rubbing along his shoulders, down the line of them and then back up again.

“When was the last time you released your wings? I can practically feel the ache from here. Lie down on your stomach, open your robe, let me see.”

Sputtering slightly, Gilmore rolled, letting himself be goaded onto his front as his robe was opened and then tossed aside. He heard a soft hiss as J’mon settle onto their knees beside him, fingers flitting over his shoulder blades.

“Is it truly that bad?”

“I can see a bit of swelling, I’m sure it will feel much better once you unfurl them.”

Gilmore closed his eyes, letting himself focus. He pressed into himself, down past the Glorious Gilmore, past the years of learned spells, into the depths of himself. Into the secreted away sections. Into the parts that he kept hidden like the smattering of scales over the edges of his softened hips and thighs, over the edges of his shoulders. He grabbed hold of it and _pulled_ and - oh. Oh it was... The stretch of an aching muscle he’d long since learned to ignore. He let out a moan he was sure bordered on lurid as, with magic built into his very body, a set of brilliant, shining gold wings erupted from his back.

They stretched out into the air, warmed by the nearby fireplace, and Gilmore watched the shadows they case on the wall with his chin perched on his folded arms. He let them flutter and flap lazily, reacclimate themselves to existing. He couldn’t maintain them for long, not in the state he was in, not after leaving them unattended for so long. He would need to practice again. They folded up along his back and then vanished with an easy roll of his shoulders.

Fingers, delicate and almost flame hot, bordering on too much, traced lines down where they’d disappeared and then further still, over the secreted away brushings of scales on his hips. Thumbs rolled against the easy squish of giving flesh, rubbed reverently over the scales. This night. This moment. Years in the making. Eons. Years and months of letter after letter. Words left unsaid. Words written between the lines. Scrawling in Draconic in the margins. A slow spiral towards each other.

And Gods, how Gilmore _wanted_.

He made a questioning noise, pressing his weight into one forearm to lift and turn himself, to look up at the dragon who watched him with an awed, quiet contemplation. As if deciding what they wished to do next. First. Gilmore grinned, threw caution and years of waiting, of preparation, of dancing around, into the wind, and leapt. He took the elegant, sculptured face in between his hands and kissed.

The noise that left J’mon’s throat was entirely worth it. A noise of surprise and pleasure. Their own hands reached up, framing Gilmore’s face. They broke away with a suck of air and rested their forehead against Gilmore’s. “I had been intending to go slow.”

“We have been going slow. We still can. I’ve been waiting a long time to do that.”

Letting out a soft laugh, J’mon flit their fingers along Gilmore’s neck and shoulder and then down his flank. “Perhaps I should remove my tunic so we’re on equal ground?”

Gilmore felt his mouth go dry and he swallowed several times, rubbing his tongue along the roof of his mouth to gather moisture. “I definitely won’t say no to that.”

J’mon smiled easily, rearing back on their knees to take hold of their tunic and then paused. “You are aware I’m inhuman.”

“If you’re saying there will be biological differences, I’m unsurprised. You can’t repulse me, _noachi_.”

J’mon’s finger curled around the hem of their tunic and then they moved, pressing a chaste kiss to Gilmore’s mouth. “I love when you speak Draconic. Your accent is so alluring.” They pulled off their tunic and dropped it off the side of the bed, moving to draw Gilmore back into their arms as they laid down on the pillows.

Following the movement, Gilmore found himself unable to keep the lovesick smile off of his face as he skimmed his hand over the slightly iridescent, brassy skin. He swooped down to press a kiss to the hollow of J’mon’s throat and enjoy the slight hitch of breath. He tipped his head up when a hand cradled the back of his head, tugging in slight insistence, and he slipped up to kiss their mouth.

J’mon broke away with a soft smile and a curious expression. They let their long fingers skirt over the line of Gilmore’s throat and down, thumb rubbing reverently and slightly fascinated, at the swell of his pec, at the fuzz over his chest, then pressed palm flat against his nipple, rolling up with the heel of their hand. “Curious, I know the females have them for feeding young, but what need have you?”

Puffing out a laugh, Gilmore let his eyes flutter as J’mon’s nails bit ever so lightly into the soft flesh of his chest. “I suspect for pleasure, or for feeding children in times of dire need. I’m a sorcerer, not a healer.”

Gilmore brought up his hand to follow the curve of J’mon’s own chest, well defined with muscle and without need for nipples. He admired the contrast of their skin, his sable skin standing out against the reddish brass tone. He dragged his fingers down the line of their chest, following the movement with featherlight kisses. It was interesting and empowering to see the imperial reduced to soft, pleasured gasps.

Flicking his tongue over a small section of flared scales laying at their hip, Gilmore slowly kissed across their torso and pressed into the tough skin with light scrapes of his teeth. He rubbed his nose to the skin, breathing in the heady molten metal scent. He kissed and nipped gently, grinning when he realized they lacked a navel as well. How delightful.

A quiet, pleading moan left J’mon as they tugged him at the hair and he let himself be moved. They rolled him, moved down the endlessly soft bed, mouth hungry and insistent. It seemed that Gilmore hadn’t been the only one thinking and dreaming of this for ages.

Gilmore’s hands wound around them, fingers pressing down the line of their shoulders, against the ridges where their wings would be, and delighted when they shuddered about him and let out a low, inhuman noise. Exploratory kisses and touches fell over his skin. J’mon snuffled and nuzzled against his neck, down into his chest, breathing him in.

“You have such a delightful scent, Shandar; beneath the perfumes you almost radiate a purely magic scent. It’s infused into your core.”

Gilmore opened his mouth to respond but his quip was swallowed by a moan when a hot, still questing tongue pressed over one nipple before vanishing almost too quickly. Before he could complain, gentle, blunt teeth rolled over the skin while his other breast was covered with dexterous, wicked fingers.

“Devo’ssa, you’re going to be the ruin of me.”

A pleased rumble left J’mon as they climbed back atop him. “The sentiment is wholly returned, beloved. I would spend ages simply letting myself explore you, but I think we’re both a bit too impatient for that tonight.”

Gilmore smiled, breathless and adoring, and reached up to cup their cheek. “I’m inclined to agree. We have time to continue to explore and learn one another.” He pressed up on his elbow to kiss them, long and deep. Their mouth was hot, hotter than the rest of them, and tasted of ozone and the faintest traces of the tea they’d drank earlier.

When they parted, J’mon moved off of him, letting Gilmore roll back atop them, reverent. He kissed slowly over their face, took their wrists into his hands and pressed a kiss over each fingertip. He let his tongue flick out when one of the fingers traced the curve of his lip and laughed at the gasp and light swat to the buttocks he got for it.

“May I remove your leggings?” Gilmore asked softly, his gaze holding those impossibly black and metallic eyes.

J’mon nodded. Gilmore moved to kneel between the part of their long legs, resting back against his heels as he unlaced the soft linen. Tugging down gently, he let his fingers curl into the drawstring of their underclothes and remove them as well. Once he’d removed their clothing and carelessly tossed it onto the floor, Gilmore let his eyes take in the full length of them bared before him. One of their arms had casually curled under the pillow below their head as they watched him work. Always so observant and curious.

Gods, they were utterly radiant. Other and yet familiar. Long, lithe and deceptively powerful. They seemed to glow in the firelight and candlelight; their skin almost reflective. Speckling of green to the brassy tone hugged around the edges of their hips and the inside of their knees.

J’mon cocked their head and quirked a brow. “Well?”

“Hush. Let me fawn over you.” Gilmore retorted with an easy grin. “You’re utterly impossible.”

J’mon scoffed. “Hardly. For a moment I was concerned I was a bit too different.”

Gilmore hummed, thumbs brushing up the whipcord tight thighs toward the join at their pelvis. He let the pads of his thumbs slip over the mound, hairless and seemingly flat. “Nonsense. You assured me needlessly you aren’t human and true, it’s a bit different than anything I’ve encountered before, but....” He flicked his tongue over his lips. “You’re my Fated -- you could be a gaseous form of light and I’d love you all the same.”

J’mon sat up slowly, gathering Gilmore into their arms, one hand framing his face as they kissed him, deliberate and almost thankful. Reassured. Gilmore let his hands skim over their neck, sighing into the kiss. Had they been nervous?

Gilmore scraped his teeth over J’mon’s lower lip as he pulled away, smiling easily. “I may need a bit of guidance but I’m an eager student.”

Laughing, J’mon tumbled back into the bed, one hand curled around the back of Gilmore’s neck and the other taking his wrist to guide it back between their thighs. “And you call _me_ impossible.”

Grinning, Gilmore moved back down their body, letting his cheek pillow itself on their thigh to watch and explore. Letting his thumb trace down the middle of the mound, Gilmore let out a soft, awed breath as it almost shifted. It was a large scale, it seemed, acting as protection. As it retracted it revealed a slick opening and he had to fight hard to keep down a moan. He reached out, index and middle fingers parting to slip around the outside edges.

“May I ask what you call it?” he murmured, eyes flicking up the long line of J’mon’s body, mouth pressing a few distracted kisses to their thigh.

J’mon let out a breath, head lifting to watch Gilmore. “In Common I suppose it best translates as… cloaca.” They gave an almost punched out breath as Gilmore carefully pressed in with his index finger.

Gilmore wasn’t able to fight off the noise, low and heated, that left his throat as his finger sunk in slowly to the second knuckle and he rocked it gently. The inside was ribbed, almost, gripping at his finger as he worked to extract it and slowly thrust it in and out. He looked up a moment as J’mon propped themself up on an elbow and lightly guided his hand in a more u-shaped and forward motion, before their head lolled back and they slowly sunk back into the bed.

Withdrawing his hand, Gilmore pressed back in with two fingers, keeping the motion he’d been taught. He climbed up, sitting astride one of J’mon’s thighs as he pillowed his head on their chest.

They made a needy sound and Gilmore let his eyes flick up to their face and smiled. “Your turn?”

Their smile was sharp and greedy when they nodded. Gilmore let out a breath of amusement when he found himself flipped against the bed. His own leggings and underclothes were removed with care but hurry, and he let out a chuckle.

J’mon let out a curious sound as their fingers pressed Gilmore’s thighs apart and they sunk, chest flat, to the bed to examine him. “Mammals, must _everything_ be external?”

Laughing uproariously, Gilmore reached down, one of his hands tangling his fingers through J’mon’s. “Call it a flaw. Or convenience.”

A gentle noise of agreement left J’mon as they ducked in. Their tongue darted out, dragging slow and hot over the length of Gilmore’s cock. He let out a tight noise, hands twisting into the bedding as his hips rolled up without his permission. He stared up toward the canopy of the bed covering them, slightly blind, as the curious, exploring tongue and lips mouthed around the glans, making his thighs shake.

“You keep with that and we won’t get very far.”

“Should I be concerned with your stamina?”

Gilmore sent a slanted look toward J’mon, who lifted both of their brows at him and then flicked their tongue out once more over the crown. When he let out a pained noise, J’mon patted his hip and drew away, kissing a line up his body. Their hands drifted over the smattering of scattered lines of golden scales at his full hips, massaging gently and sending sparks through his body.

When they reached his face they curled against him, arms moving to rest with elbows pushed into the bed on either side of his head. Their fingers skimmed over the line of his ornate hair as they curtained him and licked over his parted, panting mouth. They rubbed their pelvis, slow and torturous, over his own. Slickness dampened his cock and the heat made him shake. Gilmore reached up, hands desperately grabbing for balance at their shoulders.

They met in a messy kiss as one of J’mon’s hands wrapped around the base of his cock, holding him steady as they sunk down, slow, rippling, and _hot_ around him. Tearing his mouth away, Gilmore let out a cry, eyes rolling back into his head. It was hellish to keep still, to let them slowly grow accustomed to him, to sink down in increments. He could feel their own thighs shake, their knees hugging against him almost like a vice.

Finally they were flush together and Gilmore let out a low noise, eyes hooded as he rubbed along the lines of J’mon’s shoulders. They moved so they weren’t curled around him as completely, their hands bracing on his shoulders, and they gave him a slightly dazed smile. One he was sure he was wearing himself.

Gilmore let out a slightly choked noise when he felt the tight walls gripping him ripple and pulse slightly. His mouth fell slack and he turned to press his face into the pillows, feeling slightly lost. “Gods, you’re unlike…”

“Better than some of those wicked dreams I’ve no doubt you’ve had?” J’mon questioned slightly, clenching tight around him as they rocked up slightly on their knees before sinking back down.

“Who knew you would get improper when bedded?” Gilmore teased lightly, hands smoothing up the planes of their chest. With a bit of arcane assistance he had the pillows propping him up more fully, and he could hug himself closer to J’mon as they rocked into him. Rather than thrusting in and out they ground together slowly, the heat of J’mon gripping him and pulsing. Gilmore turned his head, pressing his face into their bicep as they petted his back and pressed a kiss to his hair.

“You’re glowing, _vethparijan_.”

Gilmore nuzzled lightly into J’mon’s arm. He could feel the slight tingle associated with when his rune manifested and peered up at them in adoration. He drew them in with a sigh, kissing them before licking a line down their throat.

Time lost all meaning as they remained tangled together, pressed close, nearly one being. They rocked and ground together unhurried. They rolled, finally, and J’mon lay, resplendent and debauched over the sheets, arms lazily curled above their head, legs easily hooked over Gilmore’s hips. Gilmore took their hands in his own, threading their fingers together as he drew back and started to thrust. Balanced on the knife’s edge of bliss.

When J’mon shattered it was breathtaking. Magic flared out from them in a brass and green wave, their head flung back into the pillows, palms flat against the headboard as they arched up into Gilmore’s body. Gilmore watched, enraptured, as they trembled against the bed, their fingers clutching tight at his own. Their body quivering, clenching him in tight, almost desperate pulses. Gilmore gave in, pressed his forehead against their chest as he released. He pressed their bodies flush, almost desperate, tears pressing against the edges of his eyes as he rode the somewhat painful waves of pleasure.

Slowly they settled, Gilmore lifted his head, chest heaving, a wide smile on his face. Carefully he extracted himself from J’mon’s body and skimmed a hand over their chest, assessing them. They watched him in turn, one hand reaching up to lazily, contently, trace over his face.

Gilmore pulled over a pillow and rested his heated face on the coolness of the silk, watching them with a fond smile. They leaned down and kissed him before standing up from the bed after a moment.

“You are acting too coordinated, far too quickly.”

“Then my act is working, because my knees are quite weak.”

Smiling smugly, Gilmore watched as they poured two mugs of tea and rewarmed them before returning to the bed. He took his own and sipped it slowly, slightly more bitter without the rock sugar but no less welcome. He moved to tuck himself against them, enjoying the feeling of being slightly dwarfed by their taller frame. He was not a slight man, but J’mon could enfold him easily and it was strangely comforting.

“I love you, you know. You’re a wonder to behold. Our lives entwined and with all that comes with it - good, bad, and inbetween - I’m all the better for it.” Gilmore murmured softly, watching J’mon.

“Your life is tied to mine now and forever, Shandar. We live and die as one. You will no longer grow old. You will likely outlive all of your friends. Your beloved Vox Machina.”

Gilmore nodded slowly; the words were not new. He’d known for a time that the consummation of their relationship would be a bond that wouldn’t be broken save for a true death. “I know. It is a fate I accept willingly.” He drained his teacup, putting it aside, and watched J’mon’s face for a long moment. “My ancestor was a fool to spurn you, Devo’ssa. We are lucky the gods gave us a second chance.”

J’mon’s lips curled up and they bent down to press a kiss to Gilmore’s still glowing forehead. “You should know by now that I do not believe in luck.”

 

\- - - - -

It was later in the day, the sun beginning to slowly descend toward the horizon when the Grand Maven entered the throne room. J’mon looked up from where they’d been quietly reading a scroll to themself and nodded to her. She nodded her understanding and made her way toward the doors to the chain lift. There was a long moment of silence before the sound of the chain beginning to unspool and the rumble of the platform moving downward.

After a few long minutes the doors to the chain lift opened again and the Maven entered the room. Following behind her was a set of three people: a couple with a youthful male. They looked well enough to do. Not opulent but not impoverished. J’mon’s eyes snapped toward the teenager standing between his parents.

He almost reeked of magic. Not in an unwholesome way, but in a way that was obviously crying out for attention. For guidance. His hair was long, pulled into a thick braid that rested over his left shoulder. He held himself tall, his eyes darting curiously around the room; up at the ornate and expensive silks, toward the Grand Maven’s dress, over the view of Ank’Harel.

J’mon stood slowly. The three people bowed their heads respectfully and J’mon closed the gap between them. They reached out, curling their index finger under the chin of the young man, thumb holding him in place as he let their eyes meet.

“You must be Shandar Geddemore. I am J’mon Sa Ord. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

**Author's Note:**

> I chose the name Shandar for Gilmore because his parents didn't have very westernized names and "Shaun" is very euro-centric. Shandar is Urdu for 'fabulous' which I thought was too appropriate.
> 
> Okay so the Draconic they use
> 
> noachi: endearment, can indicate romance or just fondness. Think “dear.” (Literally, “little treasure”)
> 
> vorellim: endearment. Literally: Beautiful
> 
> vethparijan: endearment, solely romantic. Literally “my little shield,” “my buckler.”
> 
>  
> 
> I would really appreciate comments because I worked hard on this fic. Even if it's just a thumbs up or a heart after you've left a kudos. Thanks guys!


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